At seven in the evening, the Junlin Tianxia International Hotel in Ninghai City pulsed with ceremony, a lantern of gold light in the autumn dusk.

At the entrance, service staff lined both sides like twin rows of reeds. Headlights streamed in a river of chrome, one luxury car after another gliding to a halt. From each door stepped a name that carried weight in Ninghai, faces lit like masks under the lobby glow.

A red Porsche whispered up. The door opened, and Li Muyan stepped out in a wine-red gown, keys flicking into a waiter’s palm. Her skin was porcelain against burgundy silk, her bearing cool as winter frost—an aloof young lady who drew praises like petals that never touched her.

She paused at the doors, waiting, a still crane in a flowing crowd. A sleek business van pulled in. Her parents stepped out. She went forward and curled her arm through her mother’s, and the three moved into the lobby, a family framed by glass and light.

“Huh? Strange. Why does this place look different? Last time it wasn’t this style.”

Inside, the lobby’s Western décor caught her eye—arches like shells, chrome lines like river fish.

“Is that so? I don’t come here much,” her father, Li Shoujing, said, voice calm as a still pond. “But I’d bet it’s tied to Chenghua International.”

“Hmm? What do they have to do with it?”

“You’re often at Yiyi’s place, so you may not have heard,” Li Shoujing replied, walking with the waiter toward the VIP elevators. “Chenghua bought a majority stake in this hotel. The style change feels like their hand.”

“Oh, that explains it. But why would Chenghua buy a hotel? Their focus isn’t service, right?”

The picture made sense to her, yet the edges still puzzled like mist over water.

“No idea,” her father said. “Maybe the answer sits in tonight’s banquet.”

She frowned, then followed with her mother, a red sleeve trailing like a comet’s tail.

More arrivals pooled at the entrance.

A black Buick business van stopped. Out stepped Qun Shaohua and his parents. His father, the police chief of Ninghai City, stood in the small circle of families like a pine among shrubs. Greetings drifted over like warm smoke. Then a roar tore through the curb; a silver Maserati speared in and snapped still, tires biting the concrete not far from the door.

“Father, Mother, you go ahead. I’m meeting a classmate.”

“Fine,” his father said, gaze cold as iron as it slid to the Maserati. “Tonight’s serious. Mind your status. Don’t linger with people who lack manners.”

“Got it.”

Qun dipped his head, watched them enter, then turned toward the silver shark.

Two young men climbed out—Lü Kai and his shadow, Li Mao.

“You really don’t get it, do you?” Qun said, voice edged, a thin blade in velvet. “You’re still showing off with speed in a place like this.”

“Oh! It’s Brother Qun!” Lü Kai grinned, flashing his teeth like a streetlight. “I’m just keeping it flashy. Check out my new ride.”

He slapped the hood like it was a prized stallion.

“Forget it,” Qun snorted. “You wouldn’t understand anyway. So, is it just you from the Lü family tonight?”

“My folks are coming too, but their car’s too slow. No way they could keep up with me.”

Qun stared at that smug face and felt his hand itch, a thunderhead forming behind his eyes.

“Qun, let’s head in,” Lü Kai said, reaching to throw an arm over his shoulder. Qun stepped aside like a sidestep in tai chi.

“If you want to look, do it yourself. I’m here on business. Go play.”

He turned and walked in, a straight line amid milling fish.

Lü Kai’s smile bent, fists tightening like knots. “Tch. His dad’s just the chief. Why act so high? When my dad takes that seat, let’s see how cocky he is.”

“Don’t be mad, Kai. Let’s go in,” Li Mao murmured. They moved toward the glow.

On the fourth floor, the banquet hall shone, stage dressed like a theater in spring. At center, a young man in a suit let piano notes fall like fine rain. Waiters threaded the crowd with trays, silver arcs sliding like minnows. Guests grew by the moment, pockets of talk blooming and folding.

“Brother Li, long time no see.”

Li Shoujing heard the greeting, turned, and found Ye Zhenghao with his wife approaching, smiles polished like jade.

“Ah, young Ye.”

He laughed, older by several years, letting the address settle like tea.

“It’s me, Brother Li. It’s been a while. And this is Muyan? She’s getting more beautiful by the day.”

Compliments flowed warm, but Li Muyan’s eyes stayed cool. She already knew the ties between Ye Yiyi and Ye Zhenghao, and the sweetness scraped.

“Muyan, didn’t Yiyi come with you?”

Ye’s wife moved in with a friendly reach, trying to take her arm. Li Muyan slid away like water from stone.

“Yiyi? Shouldn’t you ask yourselves? She’s your daughter, isn’t she?”

The words dropped heavy. The couple’s smiles stiffened, a cracked glaze.

“Muyan, go fetch me a glass of red,” Li Shoujing said, gentle yet firm, a fan closing.

“Okay, Dad.”

She flicked a glance at Ye Zhenghao like a feathered barb, then walked off.

“Heh… young Ye, let’s chat,” Li Shoujing said, laughter smooth as silk.

“Of course,” Ye Zhenghao replied, trying to bury the earlier awkwardness like footprints in sand.

“Honestly, I’m pissed…”

Heat pricked under her skin as Li Muyan headed for the service area, breath short as a sparrow’s.

“Yo—who ruffled our great beauty Li?”

A smoky voice curled in. She stopped. Xu Yinuo approached in a black dress, shadow and gloss in equal measure.

“Sigh… none of your business.”

Before, the two would have sparked like flint. After the amusement-island incident, her view of Xu softened a shade—just a shade.

“Busy, Miss Xu? How’d you find time to bother me?”

“Busy with what? The key players aren’t here yet.”

Xu spread her hands, easy as a cat.

“So, you came alone? Where’s Yiyi? Where’s Coco?”

“They didn’t come. If it weren’t for proper business, I wouldn’t be here either.”

Her frustration thumped like a drum.

“Heh, same here,” Xu smiled, a crescent.

“But… there’s a bit of payoff. I saw someone unexpected.”

“Unexpected?”

The word caught. After getting needled by Ye Zhenghao, she hadn’t scanned the room.

“Look—over there.”

Xu tipped her chin toward the lounge area. On a sofa sat a girl in a white gown, a calm lily amid chatter. Li Muyan didn’t recognize her. Tang Coco would have been stunned. That girl was Ouyang Lingxue of the Ouyang family from Yanjing.

“The little princess of Yanjing’s Ouyang family. She studies at our school,” Xu said.

“What? Ouyang’s? How is she at our school, and I never heard of it?”

“She keeps a low profile. Even I, as minister, only found out later.”

“Ouyang… they want a hand in Ninghai too?”

Her voice lowered, the name heavy as an old bell. The field suddenly felt wide and steep.

“Maybe. But don’t think that’s all. You know there’s also the Meng family,” Xu said, the roll call of big houses pressing like mountain fog.

Silence thinned between them. Li Muyan knew the Mengs. Friends were friends. Business was business. In this arena, she would compete clean, blade to blade.

“Alright, I’m going.”

She lifted two glasses of red and headed back to her father, a crimson arc in motion.

“Ah…”

Xu watched her leave and sighed, a thread of breath dissolving into music.

On the eleventh floor, in a guest room, Su Xinhua’s assistant stood by with dresses like flags before battle.

“Has she arrived?” Su Xinhua asked the mirror, eyes calm as deep water.

“Not yet…”

“I see.”

She thought for a beat, then nodded. “Alright. Let’s get ready. We can’t keep the guests waiting.”

“Got it, Sister Su.”

The assistant moved, and silk slid over shoulders like dawn light over hills.

Elsewhere, a red Ferrari flew along the road, taillights like twin embers.

“Hey—slow down,” Tang Coco said from the passenger seat, voice jittery as a moth.

“Hmph! It’s your fault,” Meng Yuting puffed, cheeks warm as steamed buns. “A grown man acting delicate. We spent all afternoon changing outfits. We’re going to be late!”

“Come on, listen to yourself,” Tang Coco said, wounded pride wobbling. “You call me a grown man, then you make me wear this dress…”

He tugged the single strap over his shoulder, the fabric stubborn as ivy.

“Hmph.”

Meng Yuting snorted, then pressed the accelerator again, the engine’s note rising like a hawk’s cry.